Welcome to Hyperion Records, an independent British classical label devoted to presenting high-quality recordings of music of all styles and from all periods from the twelfth century to the twenty-first.

Hyperion offers both CDs, and downloads in a number of formats. The site is also available in several languages.

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Recordings

'Restores a dimension of beauty that is often sacrificed in present day performances … Happy the family that spent its leisure hours with this mu ...'James Bowman’s usual ease of tone is in full evidence here. He gives us meltingly sweet, gorgeous, resonant high notes, and fluidity of vocal line. M ...» More

Details

Awake, sweet love, thou art returned, My heart, which long in absence mourn’d, Lives now in perfect joy. Let love, which never absent dies, Now live for ever in her eyes, Whence came my first annoy. Only herself hath seemed fair, She only I could love, She only drove me to despair, When she unkind did prove. Despair did make me wish to die That I my joys could end; She only, which did make me fly, My state may now amend. If she esteem thee now aught worth, She will not grieve thy love henceforth, Which so despair hath prov’d. Despair hath proved now in me That love will not inconstant be, Though long in vain I lov’d. If she at last reward thy love And all thy harms repair, Thy happiness will sweeter prove, Rais’d up from deep despair. And if that now thou welcome be When thou with her dost meet, She all this while but play’d with thee To make thy joys more sweet.

Awake, sweet love, thou art returned, My heart, which long in absence mourn’d, Lives now in perfect joy. Let love, which never absent dies, Now live for ever in her eyes, Whence came my first annoy. Only herself hath seemed fair, She only I could love, She only drove me to despair, When she unkind did prove. Despair did make me wish to die That I my joys could end; She only, which did make me fly, My state may now amend. If she esteem thee now aught worth, She will not grieve thy love henceforth, Which so despair hath prov’d. Despair hath proved now in me That love will not inconstant be, Though long in vain I lov’d. If she at last reward thy love And all thy harms repair, Thy happiness will sweeter prove, Rais’d up from deep despair. And if that now thou welcome be When thou with her dost meet, She all this while but play’d with thee To make thy joys more sweet.